Aftermath
by supernaturalmommy
Summary: Sequel to ACCIDENT. When life hangs in the balance, the aftermath of a horrible accident will test the boundaries of all the Winchesters. Is it still true that in the midst of danger, the Winchesters find their greatest strength in each other?
1. Confusion

_**Warnings**: _PG for language and scenes of violence

**_Disclaimor_**: I don't own 'em *pity* but if I did, I'd love the stuffing out of Sammy and Dean

**_Beta_**: The fabulous Raven!

**_Summary_**: This is the long-awaited follow-up to _**Accident**_, and, obviously, follows the aftermath of the car crash. In the heat of the moment, the Winchester's find their strength in each other, but what happens after the adrenaline high wears off? What's left behind?****

**_Author's Notes:_** The original was a prompted fic in which the prompter wanted something 'non-supernatural' and 'hurt!Sammy.' I believe I have continued on in the same spirit. *wink* This will be a bit longer though, at least 3-4 chapters. And best of all, it's all written already! So I just have to finish with editing and having my awesome beta look it over!

_**Chapter 1 - Confusion**_

"… fifteen-year-old male, traffic accident, side … shattered *leg bone*, disloca …"

_Ambulance._

Sam tried to understand, struggled to focus on what was going on around him, but his eyes refused to open.

_Accident? _

_Dad!_

He tried to move his hand, grasp one of the working hands of the EMT, but his body wasn't obeying any commands to move either. They must have somehow sensed he was conscious, because he next felt a warm weight against the arm that wasn't … there? His other arm was … oh, there it was – his mind helpfully connected him with the dull, throbbing agony that was his other arm.

"Hey kiddo. It's goin' to be just fine. Don't worry about anything, buddy." _Easy for him to say. _Sam opened his mouth, intending to ask about his dad, but found his voice only a bare whisper locked behind lips that barely opened. Something happened outside his line of sight and the ambulance shook for a moment, followed by the sudden presence of someone at his side.

Damn, but he wished he could move. His body wouldn't do what he wanted it to, and his head was hurting so bad … he closed his eyes, whining unconsciously as the pain throughout his body threatened to pull him under.

"Dude, it'll be okay. Sammy?" _Dean? Of course Dean was here … _he struggled to open his eyes for his brother, but found it harder to accomplish than he remembered. "Sammy, I swear it, bro, Dad's goin' to meet us at the hospital, dude. I just gotta drive the Impala and I'll be right there. Hell, I'll probably beat you. Yeah, hey, race you, yeah?"

_Was Dean in the accident? Did he get over the head too? _He mumbled something in answer, already sliding under, thoughts still swirling in his head as he fought the darkness.

_Was Dad hurt? Shit, his head was gonna' explode ..._ He tumbled into darkness as the machines around him screeched in warning.

* * *

Sam roused to a bright light that ratcheted up the pounding in his head. He was only vaguely aware as his eyelids were painfully stretched open and the bright light shined directly into his non-existent vision. He might have moaned; he wanted to scream.

His eyelids were finally released and he sighed at the blessed relief as his head pounded marginally less with the action. He felt like he was floating on a sea of pain, though, as he became more aware.

" … them that the OR needs reserved for the orthopedist, and where the hell is my O-neg?"

"He's partially responsive, doctor."

Sam groaned weakly, stomach rolling as he bordered on full consciousness. He tasted bitter bile and swallowed convulsively, delaying his body's reaction to the action occurring around him.

"Blood pressure's spiking!"

"Too high! It's too high! Someone get me 10 cc's of Ativan, NOW, people!"

"…"

_What happened?_

"This one was wearing his seatbelt. It broke clean through, can you imagine? Poor kid."

"At least the dad was mostly fine …"

"Yeah, but I heard the idiot that rammed into them? Crossed the median and …" Something pinched on Sammy's arm and he flinched, surprised he could feel something small when he felt like he was broken all to pieces outside. "It's okay baby, just an IV, yeah, just relax now. And, Sue, can you believe they only had a few scratches. Can you believe that?"

"Blood pressure's still not stable, O2 is falling. Get me a mask over here …"

"Nasal, or …?"

"No, mask … push 2 liters and …"

"…"

_What happened? _

_Dad?_

The sheer amount of motion around him was dizzying, compounded by the knife someone was stabbing straight through his fuckin' head …

"10 more cc's of Ativan, pressure's still not stable."

"He's goin' to need more O2, go up to 3 liters."

_Oh, man. Where …? _He couldn't open his eyes, though not for lack of trying. The light was too much, now, even against closed lids. The light left him gasping for breath, remembered snapshots slamming into him

_**Blinding headlights.**_

_**Scraping, screeching, and scratching along the side of the truck … all he could hear.**_

_**Weightless, stomach rising and …**_

_**Trees?**_

_**Branches snapping, impact lashing him front, back, until, with a final blur …**_

"… me where the hell my son is!"

_Dad! _

His eyes flew open, though his body was still unwilling to move in the slightest. He whined slightly, swallowing and licking his lips in an attempt to speak, call out to his Dad.

_Was his Dad okay? They were in a …_

_An accident. _

_They were in an accident! Was his Dad hurt? _

_Dad?_

He whimpered against his will, struggling to move his head toward the yelling, angry, but oh-so-welcome voice of his dad echoing down the hallway. He was already overwhelmed by bright lights and constant motion, and his body succumbed to the strain, stomach churning as he gagged. _Oh, shit, I'm gonna'…_

Faceless hands turned him as he vomited, the mucous-y fluid whisked away as the fast movement and resulting agony made him gag again. _Oh, man. _

The voices around him buzzed annoyingly in the background, the pain an ever-increasing vortex, sucking him in until he crested on the verge of that black void yet again. He welcomed it, falling into darkness that beckoned.

* * *

He'd been right behind the ambulance when it arrived at the hospital, bearing his brother into the ER and out of his line of sight. Dean was shaking slightly, the extra adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

"Shit!" He looked over at his Dad, who stared, dazed out the door of the Impala, his face was a wreck, with blood smeared in some spots and still dripping lazily from a cut along his hairline. "Dad?"

He was pretty sure his Dad was mostly okay, but the way he was acting right now he was a little unsure of his first impression.

"Dad?"

John startled, looking around at Dean as though he were seeing him for the first time.

"We here already?"

"Yeah, got here just behind the ambulance. You okay?"

"Yeah, just a little banged up. I'm fine." John had insisted that he was fine; he pushed one EMT away from him hard enough for the man to stumble back, but, hell, Dean got it. He did. Sammy was hurt. He was hurt bad.

He swallowed.

_Damn._

"Weapons?"

"I got 'em out of the truck just before the cops showed up, dude. Let's get in there." He glanced at his Dad out of the corner of his eye; he wouldn't dare to suggest his father should actually get checked out while they were in the hospital anyway, but his dad looked like shit. Maybe one of the nurses would go pit bull on him.

"Shit. Sammy." His Dad's voice was wrecked, and if Dean didn't know any better he would swear his father's eyes were bright with tears.

"Dad, come on!" _Enough of the dazed and injured civilian routine, time to get in and see to Sammy._ He was satisfied when John nodded halfheartedly, wrenching his door open in time with Dean. They were Winchesters, time to act it.

He met his dad on the other side of gleaming metal and caught him before he stumbled, forcing a shoulder under his Dad's arm and _damn, but his Dad was a huge ass._

Between the car and the entrance to the ER, John straightened, his steps more purposeful as they both strode into the bright building and up to the sweet thing sitting behind the front counter eying them like she wasn't sure if she should be calling for help or security. Dean smiled slow and wide and she relaxed slightly, looking at him expectantly.

"My little brother, he was just brought in. Sam Conners? Traffic accident on the old bridge?" Her eyes grew wide and _shit, but that was never a good thing._

His dad didn't bother with little lady, moving purposely around the Triage station and striding toward the double doors that marked the actual ER. Other people in the waiting room watched with half-interest, trying to look as if they weren't.

Dean shrugged and followed after him. _If Dad didn't have to play the rules why should he have to? _ An elderly man in a disheveled, loose uniform stood in front of the doors, knees knocking together as he tried to stop them. _Like that was going to happen._

"Sir! Hey! You guys can't go back there!" the old fart didn't have much of a choice, as they split and just walked around him, banging the doors open. Dean smiled as his Dad finally let his temper loose.

"I just want to fuckin' know where the hell my son is!"


	2. On a Stormy Sea of Moving Emotion

**_Disclaimer_**: I don't own 'em *pity* but if I did, I'd love the stuffing out of Sammy and Dean

**_Beta_**: The fabulous Raven!

**_Summary_**: This is the long-awaited follow-up to _**Accident**_, and, obviously, follows the aftermath of the car crash. In the heat of the moment, the Winchester's find their strength in each other, but what happens after the adrenaline high wears off? What's left behind?

_**Author's Notes, Pt. 2:**_ Sorry for the delay, I had a nasty incident with a glass shattering in my hand as I washed it and well, ended up with some stitches in my poor little right index finger. I've been trying to deal with the pain, especially while typing. So, again, sorry for the delay, and without further ado …

* * *

_**Aftermath, Ch. 2 – On a Stormy Sea of Moving Emotion**_

Disjointed, nightmarish visions chased him through his mind. One minute he was studying the bark in front of him, head locked into windshield's splintered glass and unable to look away from the tree limb before him. The next he was battling against an unseen enemy, throwing punches, kicks and blocks up as fast as he could and still getting beat all to hell.

_**His head was . . . he wasn't sure where his head was. He could barely make out the sparkling remains of glass in front of him, and he was looking out of the truck? **_

_**Glass . . . ?**_

_He struggled against the animal before him, still unable to see his attacker yet somehow knowing it was an monster of some kind. _

_Claws – they shredded his skin and caused blood to well … he couldn't block them, and instead his arms were tattered and bleeding. Why was this thing hurting him?_

_He fought. _

_He struggled to push free of the heavy weight._

_It was a fruitless effort, and he fell with a sob, a crushing weight trapping him …_

"BP is still high."

"He's still struggling, Doctor!"

"I don't care, keep full pressure on him … arms are ripped to shreds … stitches …"

_He heard someone speaking and didn't understand. What were they saying?_

_He wasn't able to decipher the voices murmering behind the blackness around him. He still struggled against the animal, but it was crushing him._

"… you going to be able to …?"

"…shattered. Poor kid."

"Jerry, check his … is he fully out?"

"Shit … he's … not enough anesthesia …"

_So heavy …_

_Weighed down, unable to see his enemy, he sank further into the shadows. _

* * *

John Winchester was not the sort of man brought to tears. So he wasn't crying and lightly petting his son's damaged face and too-long hair.

Nope.

_Ah, who the hell am I kidding?_

"Sammy? Oh, Sam, buddy … I'm here."

The last twelve hours were hell. He lost count of the number of cups of black sludge he chugged, awaiting word from the doctors working on his boy. Sam had four broken ribs, one of which was perilously close to nicking his lung, which they couldn't do anything about.

Both his arms were sliced all to hell, and between his arms, his neck and face, his Sammy had over 150 stitches crisscrossing his abused flesh. The first of three doctors to talk with him about his son's condition, Dr. Hale was the initial Emergency Room doctor. The wizened, bald-headed older man had shaken his head, eyes sincere, when he told John and Dean how close the windshield glass had come to his son's carotid artery. Part of the reason Sam was in surgery for so long was that they had actually called in a plastic surgeon to help lessen the scarring of all the stitches.

Worse still, the hardened father was left shaky as a second doctor, Dr. Escobar, explained in a softly empathetic voice that Sammy's arm and leg were both still in danger of partial amputation.

His gangly teenager had completely shattered his leg, and the doctor said it was a near thing. The surgery lasted over four hours, interspersed with small periods of re-stabilizing Sammy as his blood pressure spiked and then bottomed out. The teen made it through the surgery, but the prognosis was guarded at best. The older doctor warned the distraught father that his son was likely to lose full range of motion and ability in his leg – even if he was able to keep it.

John was halfway to shock himself, and Dean had to catch him when he listed to the side. Dean helped him sit while they explained that Sam had a busted shoulder, too. They decided to pack the gaping wound there after getting the blood to stop flowing; one of the doctors explained that infection was a major concern. John was familiar with half the terms they were using, but they still went in one ear and out the other.

Beyond all that, the second doctor added, they were concerned about how hard Sam had hit his head. A hurried CATSCAN had reassured them that while Sam had a serious concussion, there was no indication of a hemorrhage. The serious concussion, however, meant that his brain had suffered a major trauma. They assured John they would be watching this closely.

"Troubling." That's all the doctor could say about the possibility of brain damage.

John's head hung, exhaustion, guilt and regret weighing him down. _How? He just couldn't understand how it had happened. _It was just a stupid fucking accident. His son, his Sammy, shouldn't be struggling to survive.

They'd been arguing … they were always arguing these days. He thought it was part of being a teenager, and at fifteen Sam qualified as the bitchy teen he was. If only …

If only's and regrets laced his thoughts as he flinched, memories crashing into him.

"_**And I said this is what you're going to do!" Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sam lean his head against the window. Tension was still high in the set of Sam's shoulders, even if he huddled in on himself over there in his own little pity party. Probably calling him names in his head. **_

"_**Whatever." That kid … **_

"_**I swear, Sammy, you need to listen when I'm talking to you! And show me some fuckin' respect!" He saw the barest flash of something, nothing he could call respect, though. He flexed his fingers, gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeline in the ocean of teenage angst and emotions.**_

_**A flash caught his eye, as a squeal of breaks from the other side of the road had him turning just in time to see a Honda cross the midline.**_

"_**Damn idiot driver!" **_

John flinched at the memory. Stupid driver. The other guy had walked away with a few scratches and he still fisted his hands over that – it wasn't fair! He didn't want to be around when Dean heard that news. Of course, Dean had tried to bully him into being checked out in the ER, which he stubbornly insisted wasn't necessary. He assured Dean and the concerned nurse who was eavesdropping that he didn't need anything but some Tylenol. Disgruntled, Dean had finally relaxed after John called him on his attitude. Hell, his oldest son had refused treatment for far worse when he or Sammy had been hurt in the past. Besides, right now he just needed to be here for his youngest.

He rubbed a few strands of Sam's soft hair between his thumb and forefinger before gently sweeping the chestnut strands from his son's scratched and bruised face. The boy's forehead was one massive bruise, causing him to withdraw his touch for fear he'd unknowingly hurt Sammy.

"Damnit!" _If he could just see those eyes open …_

His Sam, he had such open eyes. He heard somewhere that the eyes were the window to the soul, and man that was never truer than with his boy. Big brown puppy dog eyes. His head dropped again.

_Oh, Mary._

_Mary. Mary. Mary._

_Just look at him, Mare. Our boy. Shit, I wish you were here. Wouldn't even have had a stupid accident if you were here, wouldn't be living this way. _

_It's so fuckin' hard to do it without you …_

In a hardback plastic chair, in the middle of machines and IV's, he wept silently as he watched his youngest. Dean was gracious enough to ignore the tears, thankfully, but he was grateful for the weight of his oldest's hand on his shoulder. The comfort he took in the small act reminded him of just how much Dean took care of him, as well as Sammy. Hell, the boy – no, the man – had been taking care of him when he _was _just a boy. He raised a heavy arm, placing his hand over Dean's, and squeezed.

He replayed The Argument, as he'd started calling it. Over and over again, The Argument played in his mind's eye. He struggled to understand what had put them on this path as he remembered harsh words and hurt feelings in equal measure.

"_**I don't know why you have to fight about this, Sammy. It's for your own protection." **_

"_**Dad! You know …" He glanced at his once again mad-as-hell teenager. It was the same old argument.**_

"_**You're just not ready, yet, Sammy. Not for a hunt like this." He just couldn't bear it if his boy got hurt. And he sure as hell wasn't going to put him in the middle of a rawhead hunt. At fifteen, Sammy was just young enough to be an enticing target, and John wasn't ready to use him as bait. No. **_

"_**Dad, I just …" Why the hell did he always have to argue?**_

"_**That's enough, Sammy, I gave an order." **_

"_**Yeah, but …" Time to nip this in the bud.**_

"'_**But' nothing, Samuel. I gave you an order, I'm dropping you off at Jim's, and that's that." **_

The tired man shook his head at the memory. He'd laid it on the line, not that it made a whit of difference. Sam was just too damn stubborn for his own good.

He knew Sammy'd been getting more frustrated lately, that he'd been working hard on his schoolwork even as he threw himself into training. Hell, he was even proud of him; he knew his son was strong and smart. _What was wrong with thinking he would funnel that into the hunt, and maybe following a damn order once in a while?_

Dean's weight was still warm and comforting on his shoulder, but his thoughts slipped into long-ago memories as his eyes blurred. He could hear Mary as though she were still here, whispering words from long ago …

"_**He's so beautiful, babe, isn't he? Look at him looking around at the world." Her blue eyes shimmered with happiness as she studied little Sammy before leaning back against John. "He's going to take over the world. Babe. You can already see how smart he is."**_

"_**You said the same thing about Dean-o Mare." He chuckled softly as he snuffled against the nape of her neck, a grin pulling at his lips at her response.**_

"_**Well … they both are. Dean and Sam. Sammy and Dean. They're gonna have the world at their fingertips, John. They are."**_

"_**Yep, they're both gonna be president someday. Hell, they'll both be smarter than Einstein."**_

"_**Oh, shush, John. They're both smart. And Sammy, just look into his little eyes. So curious … you can tell he's smart. Mark my words, he's going to have the world at his fingertips." She leaned back down to rub noses with her future genius and John huffed at her. **_

"_**Between the two of them, maybe they'll support us in our old age."**_

"_**Nah, your shop's gonna take off, sweetie. I just know it. And our boys? They're gonna have the world at their fingertips. They will."**_

John remembered his boy's birth, remembered holding his wife close as she continued to exclaim over their sons. He remembered thinking she was so beautiful.

Damn, but he missed her.

He remembered, once upon a time, sharing all of those ridiculous hopes and dreams, believing their sons would take over the world. The bed before him seemed to almost swallow his baby, and he almost couldn't bear to look at him, his pale face highlighted by bruises and the white of bandages. The hours passed in a daze as he watched his son and prayed in fits and starts for his recovery, for his future. He didn't care if Sam took over the world. Hell, he didn't care if he was a natural hunter.

No, he didn't care what his son did when he grew up. He just wanted him to grow up. And, though he was rarely one to say or believe in dreams and prayers these days, his desperate mind kicked into a short, needy prayer.

_God, please. Just let him grow up._

* * *

Sam floated, his thoughts lax and slippery in a sea of memories.

_**Blinding light.**_

_**Pain.**_

_**His Dad's truck was crumbled, a twisted prison for his broken body, the image frozen as a moment in time.**_

_**The blood …**_

_He turned away again, this time panic infusing him as he was met with an argument. No, it was The Argument, the one before …_

"_**And I said this is what you're going to do!" **_

_**He leaned his aching head against the cool window, watching the blur of trees and guardrails. Why couldn't his Dad ever see things from his point of view? It was like he was just an extra, not part of the team. Not that Dad cared at all.**_

_**Asshole.**_

_**He peeked at his dad's profile, but didn't see any sign that his dad could actually read thoughts, which was a good thing. He was almost sixteen! He sure as he . . . ck could decide what he wanted to do with his own time and his own future!**_

_**But noooo. He wasn't allowed to even dream of doing anything outside of the family business. As though he wanted to be a mechanic for the rest of his life. **_

"_**Whatever." It was his standard line, guaranteed to show Dad just how ticked off he was. Kind of guaranteed to make Dad just as mad; which was really the point. **_

"Sammy, I'm here, kiddo. I'm here. Please … please, just … would you wake up for me here, buddy?" _Dad? _

"I know you're in there, Sammy. You just, you just wake up now, son, you hear me? Wake up. Please …" _Dad? _Dad?

"D'd?"

"Sammy?"

"…" He meant to reply, but he couldn't really concentrate on his Dad's words, though he knew they were for him. It was taking so much energy to just be awake.

He blinked heavy eyelids, his lashes sticking together.

"Sammy?" He forced heavy eyelids open just a bit further, seeing his brother's blurry face leaning over him.

"D …" He couldn't spit it out.

He blinked at the blurry looking room, and tried unsuccessfully to focus on his Dad. He knew he was there, could tell with the leather and Old Spice he was able to catch a hint of, even through the sterile oxygen mask …mask? He couldn't really focus on Dean anymore, either, as his eyes became heavier. But he could still scent that leather and gun-powder smell, even through the sterile oxygen.

Hmm.

His eyes drooped and before he had time to worry about oxygen masks or numb bodies he was slipping back to sleep, his brother and his Dad's voice following him along with the memory of something, something he couldn't quite find it in himself to care about.

_Something about Dad's truck and an argument and …_

He sighed as his body gave in.


End file.
